Cold Wraiths Poem by luke holt

The walls are cold wraiths seething black chi against ebony china
What hath thee, mortal soul
Humans are toads, insects, vermin
The quartz laden earth would be better off without us
I feel her aura breathing upon me
Her fleshy scent haunts me like an awkward shadow
Her warm, tasty lips are horrid requiems who's orbicular stains are
sun spots on my broken brain
My disdainful blush and reluctant tear are signs of her galactic control
I'm a schizophrenic avatar who's limbs are brittle and soft as the
flesh of the plum
Why are they all so blind!
Of all the people to know of this
Why A poor flaccid ugly little Capricorn who's mother bathed him in
salt and bitterness
My brain itches when I think of their daftness
Like a Rubik's cube turned inside out
I'm yesterday's news
Archaic mentally
Obsolete physically
I'm distraught by everything
Content with nothing
My umbilical noose hangs from a sad tree
Atop a lazy mountain
Above a restless sea
Why call me the martyr of melancholy
I ignore tantrics
Dubbing them futile methods of romantic sensory
I can smell colors, taste thoughts and see sounds
I breathe the miasma of the dullards who make my newspapers
I brood near lonely ash cans staring at the pinkish white gobs of
chewing gum and the monotonous cigarette butts once pursed between the
painted lips of insomniac rave goers, the station is a dank stone
hovel filled with anonymous trench coat faces, senator Obama's million
dollar Illinois grin plastered upon the hypnotic newsstand layouts
beside doughnuts and Bic lighters
A college freshman struts by with laser eyed bravado and a cardigan
clad chick on his right arm
I glare at him menacingly, searching for his secret

We live
We die
And death not ends it
The superficiality of humanoids sickens my venomous entrails
As I speak this
Don't look at my disheveled exterior
Or my dizzy brown eyes
Or my toothless smirk
Observe every word that you clearly didn't hear
If you can see sounds
Just like me
You'll see them around
Floating to you from me